


burn the way money burns

by summerstorm



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Ice Play, Sibling Incest, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-12
Updated: 2011-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/161949">Stitch It Up</a>, if you want it to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burn the way money burns

**Author's Note:**

> For the temperature play square on my kink-bingo card.

"Oops, accident," Melissa says, and Spencer feels her face stretch into a very unattractive show of angry shock. She breathes in. She can still feel the cold on her back, a trail of melted water down her spine. Goosebumps rise on her forearms, and she glares at Melissa out the corner of her eye. You don't touch an ice cube low to the back of someone's neck by accident. There's no way this could have been, anyway: Spencer's not in the way to anything. Melissa wasn't reaching for anything else, or to leave the cube anything else.

"Stop it," Spencer says, and Melissa smiles, playful, suddenly not so angry at Spencer. Spencer frowns, but then she mirrors that smile, at least until Melissa picks up a thin shard of ice from the bowl on the coffee table and slides her hand down the inside of Spencer's thigh, making Spencer yelp.

"Really? You want me to stop?"

Melissa doesn't take her hand back this time. She keeps it there, letting Spencer feel the full burn of the ice on her skin. It melts fast, either because it's thin or because Spencer's body's warming up ridiculously quickly given it's cold outside, the drizzle from earlier turning to rain, and all she's wearing is a long tank top and short shorts. She should be sleeping. Maybe she should have stayed upstairs. This isn't funny. Her weight on the couch keeps her knee higher than her hips, and as the water melts it slides up her leg, reaching the hem of her shorts. It's a little overwhelming to feel this so suddenly after napping for an hour and just sitting down for a few minutes. After that peaceful silence, to her ears and metaphorically to the rest of her body, too.

Melissa moves away to grab another cube, and when she presses that one to Spencer's skin, she doesn't keep it there; she retracts for a few seconds then touches it to Spencer's knee, retracts and touches it to the outside of Spencer's thigh, retracts and grazes the edge of her hips through the cotton of her shorts, retracts and presses the already melting cube to the hem of her shorts, half the ice touching fabric and half touching skin. Melissa traces the hemline from her outer thigh to the crotch of it, from there over her other thigh and back again.

Spencer bites her lip hard to keep from making noise, but her hips get the best of her when Melissa's hand vanishes this time, bucking up.

"That's what I thought," Melissa says.

Spencer's lips start quivering when a rivulet of cold water makes its way deeper in between her legs. She can't close her mouth long enough to keep her lip bitten because she feels like she can't breathe, she's— She chokes out a gritted "What are you doing?" Her teeth drag between them audibly and Spencer's—she's scared, scared of Melissa and of herself, of the way she's getting so turned on by this, in front of her sister, of the way her sister is pushing anyway, pushing this far.

She tries to look at Melissa, open her eyes and lift her chin and see what Melissa looks like, what the hell is going through Melissa's mind, but all it achieves is Spencer meets Melissa's eyes just as Melissa drags her cold, damp fingers under Spencer's knee. Spencer's thighs twitch, she presses her legs together unconsciously, and Melissa smiles this smile that Spencer can't help but wish she hadn't caught, that Spencer only catches because she's looking. Melissa's smile looks vicious.

Spencer used to think Alison's was the scariest smile she'd ever seen, but the memory of it pales in comparison to the way Melissa smiles before her expression turns thoughtful, mouth and teeth opening and the tip of her tongue swirling by her canines. It's terrifying and it makes Spencer's knees buckle in — in disgust at Melissa, she wants to think, legs stretching out, spreading out a bit, but she knows it's not true. She knows her knees are weak because her body's tight and she feels like she can't move at all. She can't concentrate on anything but the pressure between her legs, and then Melissa catches a handful of broken ice chips and arranges them slow and carefully on the hollow of Spencer's hips, the converging lines tracing down from her hipbones.

The freezing melted water falls down Spencer's hips. It's not just cold; it soaks her underwear, and she feels it on her groins and between her legs, wet and unpleasant and freezing. It only makes her pulse, twitch, and her thighs tense up even more and Spencer makes a noise, halfway between a moan and a whimper, something horrible that she doesn't manage to bite back before it's too late.

This cannot be happening.

Melissa's tracing a line along her lower belly with cold fingertips and sharp, colder nails, and Spencer's looking down at that hand so intently she doesn't see it coming when Melissa grabs another melting cube and holds it between Spencer's breasts.

"Look up," Melissa says, and Spencer does, finally closing her mouth, pressing her dry lips together and trying to hydrate them with her tongue. "What do you want?"

Spencer opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her belly's heaving and her hips are rocking up into thin air and this is the most embarrassing moment Spencer can remember ever having, worse than anything Alison made Spencer feel even before Spencer woke up and realized what a horrible person Alison was.

"You know what you want," Melissa says. Her voice carries a dangerous edge that sweeps into Spencer's gut and makes her shudder. "Do you want me to touch you?"

"You already _are_ ," Spencer says, her voice breaking on the last word when Melissa shoves her fingers down Spencer's shirt and squeezes her breast and holds her nipple between two nails.

"You know exactly," Melissa begins again, trailing off. "You want what I have. You've always wanted what was mine. What else do you want that's mine? My time? My patience? Little favors?"

Spencer swallows. Her voice is a throaty thread when she says, "Don't you think that's a little melodramatic?" In any other circumstances, it would sound biting. It would sound firm and self-assured. Spencer hates that she can't be that way around Melissa. It's like Melissa strips Spencer of her confidence, even when it's Melissa who's acting less than admirably.

But this is crazy. Spencer's _sweating_ and her wrists are white where they sink into the couch and she feels like all she needs is one more word, one more touch and she's going to come.

"I guess it is," Melissa says. "I'm melodramatic, you're paranoid, we have it all."

"I'm not—" Spencer begins, voice straining to cover more words, forcing her hips down, trying not to be so on edge, so on the wrong kind of edge.

"But you are," Melissa says, at the same time as she slips a hand between Spencer's legs, squeezing at her inner thigh, the edge of it pressing right where Spencer needs it, doesn't want it, and her hips rise and she's coming, her jaw going slack. It's silent and exhausting, and when it's over she feels like she's waking from having blacked out.

The couch dips beneath her before she opens her eyes, Melissa's weight vanishing, a clink of glass on glass when Melissa presumably sets her drink down on the coffee table. Spencer sees Melissa say, "I'm going to bed," a message her eyes catch better than her ears, and then she's alone, her nightwear all wet, her body beginning to feel the cold again, abruptly sharp down to her bones.

She picks Melissa's glass up. It's full, watery now, and it smells like a good night's sleep. She puts it down again. She feels exhausted, and she needs to change, and all she wants to do is get into her warm bed and curl up and not think about anything.

She's too tired to freak out about this; there's no way she's not tired enough to sleep now. With some effort, she pushes herself off the couch and to her feet. If she's lucky, she may be in the right place on her sleeping patterns to remember this night as a bad dream, and not to have to wait very long before it fades from her memory entirely.


End file.
